that way. But how did he come to be hidden in the bedroom, and how did he kill the old lady before she had time to call out or even rise, seeing that he had the whole length of the room to cross before reaching her? And again, the escape of the assassin at this hour did not explain the ringing of the bell. Cuthbert was deeply interested, and wondered if the mystery would ever be solved.  "I must see Jennings after all," he thought as the train steamed into Paddington. 

 And see Jennings he did, sooner than he expected. That same evening when he was dressing to go out, a card was brought. It was inscribed "Miles Jennings."  Rather surprised that the detective should seek him out so promptly, Cuthbert entered his sitting-room. Jennings, who was standing with his back to the window, saluted him with a pleasant smile, and spoke to him as to an equal. Of course he had every right to do so since he had been at school with Mallow, but somehow the familiarity irritated Cuthbert. 

 "Well, Jennings, what is it?" 

 "I came to ask you a few questions, Mallow." 

 "About what?" 

 "About the murder at Rose Cottage." 

 "But, my dear fellow, I know nothing about it." 

 "You knew Miss Loach?" 

 "Yes. I saw her once or twice. But I did not like her." 

 "She is the aunt of the young lady you are engaged to marry?" 

 Mallow drew himself up stiffly.  "As a matter of fact she is," he said with marked coldness.  "But I don't see—" 

 "You will in a minute," said Jennings briskly.   "Pardon me, but are you in love with another woman?" 

 Mallow grew red.  "What the devil do you mean by coming here to ask me such a question?" he demanded. 

 "Gently, Mallow, I am your friend, and you may need one." 

 "What do you mean. Do you accuse me of—" 

 "I accuse you of nothing," said Jennings quickly, "but I ask you, why did you give this photograph, with an inscription, to the servant of the murdered woman." 

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